


Jolly Old Saint Anthony

by sian1359



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-02
Updated: 2013-01-02
Packaged: 2017-11-22 21:37:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/614607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sian1359/pseuds/sian1359
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being stuck in the hospital during Christmas sucked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jolly Old Saint Anthony

**Author's Note:**

> So, since the prompt referred to Tony Stark, the story also took a turn to being as much about Tony as it is about Clint and Phil. For the Feelschat 2012 Feelstide Holiday Fest; prompt 101: Tony has a secret tradition of dropping off large amounts of toys, treats, clothes, and books at local children's hospitals and group homes. No one is ever supposed to find out who leaves these things there, but one sneaky Avenger finds out and takes it upon themself to help Tony.
> 
> This is my third contribution to this year's festivities, started as somewhat an alternate in the case of there not being enough fic, though I think that was resolved. Not beta'ed as it took a little longer than I'd hoped to finish, and I've already asked much of auburn in the last few weeks to disrupt her again. Nothing too egregious within, however. I think. (I hope.) It is also my attempt to write a little humor though that took a back seat mostly. Totally inspired by the House Season Four episode, Games, though again in a mostly blink and you'll miss it bit of scene.

 

Spending Christmas in a hospital bed sucked. Being stuck on a mission over Christmas was only marginally better, at least the ones not involving being stuck in the back-ass end of nowhere and having to wait as several fucking inches of fucking snow fell to maybe enhanced your cover but also made it that lying on a rooftop that more uncomfortable. Either situation was made rougher by the semblance of Christmas all around yet being unable to participate and if Clint never had to again take someone out, figuratively or literally, surrounded by festive lights or in front of a decorated tree – while they were picking up presents for their own loved ones – he would die damned happy.

Having suffered through both circumstances over the years, Clint and Phil made a habit of spreading a little Christmas cheer to those experiencing such misfortunate when they could. To that end, they now strode down a corridor of the Presbyterian Hospital at Cornell to make their first visit of the day, carrying a tin of cookies and fudge, and a tray of dried fruit for the nurse stations. Not as bribes, per se, as they'd waited until visiting hours had opened, but maybe they were hoping for eyes to be turned the other direction from the other food stuffs they carried: cups of spiced and mocha coffee and a basket of cranberry and banana/chocolate chip/cherry muffins.

Whatever the cause, they did make it to the room unmolested and, after a quick knock Clint didn't wait to hear acknowledged, entered into Jasper Sitwell's room.

"Ho, ho, ho," Clint offered in greeting while Phil's was more circumspect:

"Hope you are up for a little company?"

The nod was unnecessary given the way Jasper's face lit up at their arrival. Or maybe it was for the goodie basket; he'd worked for Phil long enough not only to had to have been expecting a visit, but to know that Phil baked muffins of legend.

"You hear from your family yet?" Clint asked with a nod to the SHIELD issued video equipment set up on a rolling cart as he handed over the chocolate and whipped cream infused cup.

Jasper nodded again. "Dad called last night, to let me know the local office had dropped off the tech on their end," he answered, his voice rough, but not sounding too hoarse. "My youngest sister and her brood hadn't made it to SFO yet, so they'll be calling back later today after everyone's up and around. Probably around noon, given the time difference between the Coasts and that the kids are going to insist on opening presents first before having to sit still and call their uncle Jasper."

Whatever else kind of bastard Nick Fury was, being a Scrooge or Grinch was not one of them;  arranging so that family members could video chat with laid-up agents was a long standing policy for those who lived too far apart. Jasper's family, Clint remembered from too much downtime during the Thor incident in New Mexico, mostly lived in Northern California, with a couple siblings branched out into Portland and Seattle. It contained too many nieces and nephews to make the trek to New York easy or really even viable for just his parents when Jasper wasn't in danger of dying. Especially during the Christmas season when plans for time off, trips, and the single gathering point at Jasper's folks' house had already been allocated before Jasper had come down with appendicitis.

"And how goes your recovery?" Phil asked, taking a chair at Jasper's bedside then taking a sip of his own coffee: black, no sugar, cream or frills of any kind. He could have picked up Jasper's medical chart and read the results, having spent enough time in medical looking in on junior agents and assets like Clint during his career to have probably qualify for his own degree by now. But Phil also had a strict idea of propriety and privacy and so wouldn't, unless the situation turned into an emergency – or he had permission.

This time they got a shrug. "I'm far enough along in recovery from the laparoscopy that I can eat solids again – and thank you for bringing something worthy of that victory," he added, inclining his head toward the basket though he hadn't made a grab for one of the muffins yet. "The added bonus of the pneumonia means I'm here for another week at least."

Through New Year's then, and that was another bitch and a half. SHIELD didn't do a Christmas/Non-Denominational, Present-Giving party, instead opting for New Year's Eve party that would be considered legendary even to a man like Tony Stark – a My-God-We-Survived-The-WSC-And-Another-Year Blowout.  If a few presents, phone numbers, or kisses were exchanged during the course of the evening and the emptying of every liquor store within a five-mile radius, well, they were all grown-ups and quite capable of augmenting sanctioned festivities with personal variations. It was the one SHIELD social event that even Natasha attended without prompting though she, like Clint, participated as much for obtaining new blackmail material over the rest of it. (Clint didn't drink and no one had yet managed to drink Natasha under the table, though not without years of trying; stolen and then not so stolen kisses were nice, though.)

"Do you have enough movies to get you through it?" Clint asked, knowing that with the video conferencing set-up that had been dropped off, so too would have been a DVD player. The med bay on the Helicarrier was austere out of necessity: weight and size limitations, but SHIELD medical in the agencies various headquarters throughout the world contained many creature comforts for those needing longer term stays; senior management made sure a certain level of comforts were also available when an agent elected to stay at a civilian hospital instead.

"Director Hill dropped off the first two seasons of the BBC's Sherlock and I've still got the last season of Dr. Who to catch up on, so I won't have to watch any crappy network TV. She also said that Fury authorized a $50 a day budget for books and video or audio downloads to my StarkPad. I won't be bored."

Neither was Clint, as for the next hour or so, the three of them discussed football, the hockey lock-out, whether anything could really be done about climate change, and current politics. Clint participated fully in the first two conversations and goaded the other two on the last topics, switching sides when necessary to keep things interesting. Time past, muffins and coffee were consumed, and Clint was feeling good about leaving Jasper feeling better, not that he was in any hurry to leave even now.

While Tony, Pepper and Steve had organized an "Avengers" Christmas that they were expected to attend, along with the other members and any friends who'd been convinced, it wasn't scheduled to start until late afternoon, and Pepper had turned into a surprisingly scary drill sergeant with no room or patience for others hanging around underfoot.

"Hey, Maria also said you'd bring me up to speed on current operations," Jasper was saying when Clint tuned back in from his thoughts on what they were all going to be in for in just a few hours.

"And that's my cue to make myself scarce for an hour or so."

Both Jasper and Phil looked toward him. "You don't mind?" Phil asked.

Clint shook his head. While even Fury knew that there were few secrets between Clint and Phil – even SHIELD secrets – Phil was privy to many things above Clint's clearance level, things Clint really didn't care to know about unless it affected him and his directly. Listening to Phil debrief Jasper on Jasper's assets and those operations with cross-functionality between various field and strike teams was not information Clint cared to be burdened with unless he was also given the opportunity to participate; he'd be the first to admit he'd make a terrible supervisor, whether as a handler or making policy, as too often he had an opinion on how everyone else managed their jobs and that was not conducive to being a team player. There had been a reason he'd bounced from handler to handler in his early days at SHIELD, and he knew there was already a pretty hefty betting pool on how soon he'd go insubordinate on Cap's ass during an Avenger's op.

He was wondering that himself, although, so far, Captain America was much more concerned with keeping Iron Man's… maverick spirit in check to worry about Clint's. Cap was also a good enough field leader to appreciate his teammates' own skills and experience and not micromanage their participation – other than Tony's. And even then, only when Iron Man was being especially obnoxious.

"I'll just head over to Pediatrics and tell stories or something," Clint offered with a quick kiss for Phil and a squeeze of Jasper's shoulder before moving toward the door. "Text me when it's safe to come back."

***********

"Then Thor swung his mighty hammer –"

"M'jnar!"

"—and Captain America told the Hulk to –"

"Smash!"

"Which stopped all the bad robots and the puppies were saved."

"Oooh."

Oooh, indeed. Although the Doombots hadn't just been stopped but utterly destroyed, to the point of Tony whining that there wasn't enough left of any of their workings for him to deconstruct against the next time. And there had been people endangered as much as puppies, but that battle had involved a shopping mall with a pet store. Clint had counted at least six puppies getting underfoot when Bruce had smashed not just the storefront window, but the glass in the row of cages right next to it. There was nothing quite like watching the Hulk stop in mid swing to instead hunch over to protect all things furry, while Captain America sent the Black Widow to puppy and kitten wrangle.

The ooohs from the children quickly turned into even more excited exclamations. Clint knew it wasn't for him since he was between stories; he raised his head, careful of the wig he'd been loaned, and turned to look toward where their attention had been taken. Ah, Santa was coming up to the doors. Of course Santa would trump sanitized Avenger mission reenactments, Santa should. Clint had gotten enough laughs along with the ooohs over the last half hour not to feel the least bit slighted. Before he could divest himself of the bits and pieces he'd been offered to make up his Thor costume, Ricky and Ramon tugged on his arms and pulled him down to the beanbag chair so they could climb into his lap so he could wait for Santa with them.

"Santa, Santa," came the cries from around him when the Santa pushed through the doors.

"Ho, ho, ho!" came the response, from a very familiar voice.

Clint narrowed his eyes. Sure enough, the Santa also looked familiar and in the instant their gazes crossed, Clint found himself grinning at a very embarrassed Tony Stark.  Tony had done a remarkable job in looking like one of the best Santas you saw in the movies. Typical red, white-trimmed suit, black boots and belt, full white whiskers and a stomach that would make the Hulk feel envious. That the suit was also definitely not a rental or off-the-rack, and the girth not coming from a stuffed pillow but somehow built into the costume directly also implied that this was not Tony's first foray as Santa, since the boots – while shiny – also had a few scuffs that spoke of vigorous use, as did the barely visible repair job of a tear in one of the knees of the suit.

Clint wasn't surprised that Tony Stark made sure local children in need had Christmas presents to open come Christmas Day; philanthropist wasn't just a title that Tony called himself now and then just to jerk Steve's chain.  He was pleasantly surprised, however, to see that Tony did the handing out himself. Though there was also an instant that the jerk living in his brain wondered about Tony's angle and was considering this as prime blackmail fodder before his rational _and_ child inner self began berating the asshole. When he'd been that child, Clint would have given anything to have someone show up at the hospital or later the orphanage with Christmas presents. He wasn't going to be a jerk now and ruin these kids' enjoyment – or embarrass Tony any further that he might stop doing this kind of thing now that his secret was out.

"Ho, ho, ho, Santa," Clint instead led the children in greeting Santa Tony back.  "Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas to you, children," Tony responded.

Only because Clint had gotten to know him pretty well in the last seven months did he hear the undercurrent of wariness amidst the cheer.

"And a festive Yule to you, Mighty Thor of the Avengers," Tony then added with something a lot more like a smirk and a promise of retaliation if necessary in his eyes when he turned his attention directly Clint's way.

The thing was, Clint didn't feel embarrassed being caught – even by Tony Stark – with the red blanket Ricky had offered up tied around his neck, while holding half a cardboard wrapping paper tube with an empty box of candy taped to one end that had been contributed by the nurses' station and wearing the blonde wig that Josie only wore when her dad came by that her mom had suggested Clint borrow for his reenactments.  Anything that brought laughter and joy to the kids of the Pediatric Cancer Ward was a good thing, even if it had been at his expense. But these kids had been laughing with him, not at him, just as now, they didn't know or care that their Santa had spent most of Christmas Eve seeing how many times he could trap certain people under the mistletoe, and the closest thing he knew of Rudolph was that his Maserati was candy apple red.

He didn't feel embarrassed, and did his best to assure with his expression that Tony shouldn't either.

Tony blinked, gave a little nod, then turned his attention back to the children. "Have you all been good this year?" he asked as he set down his bag.

"Yes," came the litany of answers, lisped, crisp or whispered.

"Well, then, I have presents." He gave them a big smile and gestured to one of the nurses along with Josie's mom to come join him. The three of them exchanged their own whispers for a few seconds and as the presents started being brought forth, Clint was pretty sure he'd picked up on the gist.

Red packages got handed out to the girls, the green ones to the boys. If there was cute decorations with the ribbons, like chibi animals or Disney characters, those went to the younger kids while the more seasonal imagery like Christmas trees or nutcrackers got handed to the older kids. A very logical system that still provided each child with something that could have been specifically tailored, especially when a fifth type of paper and bow showed up that were just as carefully distributed.  Inside those packages, Clint noted when the paper was being shredded were things like art and craft supplies, complicated jigsaw puzzles and writing journals.

A pile of presents ended up placed to one side, no doubt for the rest of the children in the ward to sick or needing too much equipment to be able to come out into the day room. Finally, the bottom of the bag was reached, and out came a wrapped box that Tony carried over directly to the nurses; turning out to be a collection of maybe thirty DVDs along with a certificate being looked over that Clint was certain promised delivery of a new state of the art player and monitor – big screen and no doubt a wall mount given the similar things that Tony had outfitted the private quarters in his tower for Clint and the other Avengers when he'd finally convinced them all to move in residence with him.

Clint managed to extract himself from the beanbag chair and gain his feet when the twins got up to show everyone else their presents. He found himself impressed and pleased to see that Tony hadn't gone overboard with the gifts. Not that he had bought cheap knock-offs, of course, but that he also hadn't been so extravagant in any of them or in the number of gifts per child as to put the kids' parents to shame with whatever they might have been able to scrape together. Clint knew that Tony was _capable_ of restraint; he'd gotten lots of practice in the last several months in working with and then living in the same building as Steve Rogers, who didn't seem in any hurry to let go of his depression era mindset when it came to buying consumer goods. He was surprised, however, to note that this restraint did not seem to be a first-time thing, going by the reactions of the nurses and parents who'd been here last year for this too.

Watching as Tony made the rounds, talking to every child and parent, admiring their gifts and making a point of touching or joking when appropriate, Clint found himself feeling proud when Tony not even once flinched from the sight, disease or injury of any child. He then berated himself once more for such a patronizing feeling; just because Tony had been born of privilege didn't mean his life had been perfect or that everything he did was calculated on the press it could generate.

Obviously, there was no press here, and while Clint did not doubt that Tony did do the occasional grand gesture for orphans and the homeless , he expected those things were done as much to guilt other Silver Spoons in Tony's acquaintance to make their own philanthropic contributions as it was for the press or tax benefit.  A Tony who was only in it for the bottom line as it applied to Stark Industries profits or Tony Stark's personal fortune would not have opened his home as he had to a couple of assassins, a man out of time, a monster and a god. Iron Man might be bankrolling the Avengers, but it was Tony who'd insured that Clint, Natasha, Steve, Bruce and Thor had a place to call home over the use of a headquarters and barracks when needed.

"Did you know about this?" were Clint's quiet words over a greeting when he felt Phil's approach.

There was a pause, then, "Is that Star –"

"Santa Tony," Clint said pointedly before turning to offer a more proper greeting. Not that he did much more than give Phil a quick peck and hug so as not to create any fuss that might be disruptive before turning back. Normally he didn't give a fuck about offending people who might not welcome his and Phil's relationship, but today was about the kids – and Tony. He'd have plenty more opportunities to shock the righteous without potentially ruining Christmas. He did make sure to keep his arm around Phil's back, however, as they maneuvered to stand side by side. He felt Phil's come to rest along his back in turn, but then there was a lot of hugging and continual touching going on right now, that only the most zealous and narrow-minded might find offense.

"I don’t think the parents or even all the nurses know who's behind the beard, just that someone cares enough to go through the trouble. And I feel bad for being surprised. I feel like I owe him an apology, just for witnessing this. "

"While I don't think there is anything… Santa Tony can do to surprise me anymore, I know what you mean," Phil agreed. "I don't think he'd take an apology any better than he would teasing about this, however. Both imply he's doing something uncharacteristic, if not actually wrong."

"Maybe we could just ask that if he's not done for the day, we could help?  You're okay with pushing our private celebration of the day back a little longer, right?"

"Yes, but only if you lose the wig first."

— finis —

 

 

 

 


End file.
